"What?" Her magnolia drawl elongated the word into a paragraph. A loose tendril of hair dangled from her temple. "My neighbors will have to get their cows checked?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Some of them will have a spell. It's that contagious?"
He mentally scanned notes from large animal medicine lectures. "Yes, ma'am. Sometimes cows get into other fields, sometimes animals drag afterbirth into another field."
Nervous eyes analyzed the information. "If a cow was in somebody else's field today, would their cow test positive tomorrow?"
"Probably not. Why do you ask?"
"Some of mine got through a hole somebody cut this morning. Those PETTA folks. They left a flyer. But they weren't out over a few hours."
Will frowned. The PETTA people got around. Another note had been taped to the clinic door, claiming responsibility for Uncle Bill's death. Skeets and a reporter at the Sentinel had mentioned receiving one also. "Neither of the cows we tested, I hope."
Her response was emphatic. "No. I already had them caught up."
He shrugged. "Probably not much to worry about then."
"Good."
"Ever had any cows test positive when you took them to sale?"
A fighter jet roar accompanied an explosion of wind. The tin roof vibrated. Baseball-sized hail, blown horizontal to the ground, pounded the barn walls, blasted through the open doors, ricocheted off the walls.
A piece slammed Will above an eye. Blood spurted from the gash in pulsing arcs. His knees buckled. He wobbled back several steps. Crashed into the wall. Fought to stay erect.
The cow, still held in the head catch, bellowed as volleys of hail pummeled her face.
In a dazed response to the cow's bawls, Will grabbed a large rubber feed tub, held it up as a shield, clumsily lurched forward, flinching and grunting as hail body-punched him, and managed to trip the release.
Liza hadn't moved the entire time. Will grabbed her by the elbow, intending to lead her into a stall for safety. Shaken from her reverie, she slapped his hand. Hard enough to rattle the marrow. The burning sensation should lessen over the next month.
"What do you think you're doing? Don't be touching me."
Hail and leaf debris blew into the hall. He pressed a finger against the cut to staunch the flow dripping from his chin. What a stunningly cantankerous girl. Acting like he was groping her. He yelled to be heard. "My mistake. I forgot your head is thick enough to take this. I'm moving someplace safer."
Booming thunder vibrated the ground.
"You're bleeding." He maneuvered over the slippery jumble of ice to pass her. She followed him into an empty stall. "Let me take a look."
His hand pressed hard against the bleeder. A ticklish stream of warm blood trickled down his wrist. "You keep your hands to yourself. I'll do the same. Just close the door."
Wordless, they huddled in the dark, one on each side of the stall, wary eyes watching the roof as it continued to be indented, sometimes pierced by the supernatural force of the hail. The unleashed power of the storm forced a momentary hush upon them, like people entering the presence of God.
Liza broke their silence, whispering only loud enough to be heard. Almost as if wanting to keep the question her secret. "Are we going to die?"
"Today?"
"This isn't the time to be funny!" Liza leaped to her feet, paced her side of the stall like a caged animal.
"Might be my last chance. Be a shame to waste it."
"Stop it!"
With her face pointed upwards, it was unclear whether she yelled at Will or the heavens. While she peeked through a gap in the wall, a blast of wind ripped two planks away from before her face. The suction yanked the loose hair on her temples forward, causing them to stand out like flapping horns while she braced against the wall in a struggle not to be pulled into the dark. Whooping screams were sucked into the black void. A tangle of spastic arms and legs, she backpedaled and tripped and squalled as she fell hard on her tailbone. Like a terrified crawdad, she continued scooting in reverse.
Will helped her up and pulled her to an interior wall. Once seated, she clutched at his arm, eyes rounded in fear as she stared blankly ahead. Convulsive sobs jerked her shoulders. Will rubbed her hand, partly to comfort her, more to persuade her to relax her grip, a grip with the effect of Novocain. She seemed not to notice the contact, but sat motionless, eyes vacant, hand clenching harder, like a hydraulic claw.
Goose bumps covered Liza's bare arms and legs. There wasn't even an empty feed sack to cover her with. Another board fell prey to the voracious wind, followed by two pieces of roofing tin shrieking their protests as the insatiable maw swallowed them.
Hail spilled in, bounced like frozen golf balls. In one motion they scooted closer to the wall, huddled together. Will wrapped his arm around her to share his warmth.
"Miss Hall, I don't know what's going to happen." He leaned closer to see her face through the dark. Was she was listening? "Are you ready to die?"
Liza stared at him through the cold dimness filling the stall.
"Miss Hall, did you hear me?"
"Yes. But I'd rather not."
"Do you know Jesus?"
"Perhaps I could do better, but I've been saved." Head ducked, she mumbled the words.
"Huh?"
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she shouted, even though his face was inches away. "Are you deaf or something? Yes, I've been saved! Why was I in church yesterday if I'm not?"
Will smiled with relief, ignoring the ringing in his ears. Good enough. No way would he ask her if she was sure. As far as he was concerned, he was off the hook. "I'm going to pray. Okay?"
She nodded, brought her knees to her chest and squinted her eyes. After he prayed for their protection, he lifted petitions for her, asking God to be with her during this time of grieving for her dad, to be her provider, to be with her no matter what the lab reports might show.
The tempest ended abruptly after Will's amen. In its wake lay reverent stillness as hushed as the storm's blasphemous outburst. They noticed simultaneously that Will's arm rested across her shoulders. He jerked it away when she roughly shrugged. She had nearly fractured his hand for touching her elbow. An entire arm in an inappropriate location might cost a major body part. He jumped to his feet, blinking at cones of light pouring through the roof.
Liza sat another moment. When she rose, it was in wearied increments. With the heels of her hands, she wiped reddened eyes. She might have been trying to stuff the tears back in. A scratchy whisper pushed through taut lips. "I don't even want to look outside."
Will nodded in silent agreement, wondering if the storm had been isolated or if it had passed through town, damaging the clinic. If it had been destroyed, he wouldn't have to decide whether to remain or not. Not much point worrying about it right now. There were things to tend to here.
"Let me look at that cut."
Will touched the laceration above his eye. "It's stopped bleeding, so lets leave it alone for now." He glanced toward the door. "I'll stay around, if you like. It's not going to be pretty."
Liza frowned stiffly. "You'll need to get to town. I know you're probably worried about the clinic."
"At least let me check a few things in your house. I've read about places burning down after storms. Water gets on exposed wires. Sparks fly. Then you're the proud owner of a fire."
Liza blinked with exaggerated slowness. A bemused smile twisted color from her lips. "You're chock full of good news, aren't you, Dr. Kilpatrick? First you tell me I may have to sell my cows. Then you say I might go blind and have to have my eyeballs whacked out. And now you say...my house might just up and burn down." She paused, one hand on a cheek, a hip thrown to the side. "You're a regular Mr. Encouragement."
He smiled, amused at her interpretation of events despite the extensive damage surrounding them. "If you put it that way, I guess you could read a thread of doom into it."
Her eyes broke with his, briefly slid skyward. She sighed
. "I hope you're not going to be offended if I don't ask you back real soon."
"As long as I know its nothing personal, I believe I can accept it." A dark sense of humor lurked beneath her shellacked exterior. His attitude towards her thawed. Was it solely pity that drew him towards her? He ran the thought away. He wouldn't be in town long enough to find out.
"We might as well see what's left."
Chapter 23
They stepped into intense sunshine enhanced by its reflection off the glistening hail. After exchanging stricken glances, their eyes parted as though embarrassed by the carnage.
Trees stood half-naked, shamed limbs stripped of foliage. Layers of shredded leaves coated the barn's side. More covered the ground like a huge tossed salad being held on ice.
The chicken coop resembled an unlit bonfire. Carcasses of laying hens littered the ground. Some crippled ones drug themselves along. They would have to be killed. Liza hoped that the range stock nearing slaughter size had found shelter, but that was expecting a lot from a chicken. In the midst of the debris, the pungent aroma of crushed mint leaves perfumed the air.
A flash of slinking yellow caught her attention. She dropped to her knees as Blue lunged into her arms. Except for a pump knot on his head, he appeared to be unharmed.
Liza's eyes jerked here and there, awestruck at the thoroughness of the devastation. Corn, beans, squash, cucumbers, okra, tomatoes - all leveled. Despair squeezed her frail voice. "This is worse than bad."
Will touched her shoulder but moved his hand away when her skin twitched like a spooky horse's.
Spontaneous combustion seemed inevitable. Only the chilled air prevented it while his arm was around her in the barn. Though the farm was suffering devastation, his embrace, if that's what it was, provided security during the storm.
PJ was right. Men like him should be locked up.
And if not him, her.
Now she had two disasters to sort through.
After yesterday's debacle, she doubted it mattered. Though it fell on her to explain why she stood him up after church, he hadn't bothered to ask why she backed out. What did that say? Being with her wasn't important? Maybe he was more a hot cross buns than biscuits guy. God, give me the opportunity to make amends.
"Is it too late to replant?"
She paused. He might as well have asked her what the square root of the moon was. "I'm not sure."
"Is there anyone I can call to come help you?"
"No. Guess I'd better check the house."
Large areas of shingles had been ripped from the roof, exposing black tar paper and bare boards. The windows on the north side stared blindly, sockets without eyes.
Will scraped the porch free of ice and glass with his boots. Liza swung the ruined screen door open. Puddles of water glittered in the kitchen where hail, after smashing through the windows, decayed. Splinters of glass crunched underfoot. He noticed the shotgun propped against the wall and looked at her. How alluring was that?
She slumped against the sink. If she had felt better, she would have vomited.
Will flipped the wall switch several times. "No electric. Where's the circuit breaker?"
"In there." She waved absently at the walk-in pantry in the corner. He could take over until she caught her breath and refocused. Then she would resume control. And being independent. And being analytical.
He opened the door. Enough light shone in to reveal ceiling shelves stacked six deep with canned goods – vegetables, fruits, juices, jellies.
"How can I get into the attic?" He threw the main breaker switch. "And I'll need a flashlight."
A daze settled on her mood like fog rolling into the river bottom at dusk. Her words were draped in monotone, devoid of emotion. "Next room. Door's at the head of the stairs." The drawer squealed when she opened it, found a flashlight, and thrust it at him like a resented offering.
Liza looked up from sweeping glass when he returned.
"Upstairs looks okay except for a few leaks. Some boxes were getting wet, so I brought them down in case they were important. If you've got a tarp, it would be smart to throw it over things until the roof gets fixed. And if you have another broom, I'll help you sweep up."
She blinked. "Did you say something?"
"I said several somethings."
"I'm not sure I heard it. Them."
"How did you know I said something then?"
"I don't have time for more attempts at humor." She jabbed the broom down for emphasis. Why couldn't he be normal, like her, and fret and worry and be anxious?
"I said if you have another broom, I'd help you sweep."
"That's alright. You've done more than enough already. I can do it."
Will propped against the sink. The knot above his eye gave him a swashbuckling appearance. "I'm sure you can. But it's faster with two. I could help you tack something over the windows, too."
An immense sadness transfused her, made her want to melt into tears in his arms while hardened pride fought against accepting his kindness. It was maddening. She felt oddly detached from the moment, a spectator watching scenes of a play unfold, wanting to yell out advice to the actors, yet realizing she held no influence over the script. Coldness stiffened her voice.
"I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather do it myself." The sound of the grandfather clock pecked the air, reminding her of Clio's words in Goolsby's.
Will cleared his throat. Could he read her thoughts? "Has anyone ever mentioned that you're a tad hard-headed? And prideful?"
Her chin lifted. She ignored his tentative smile. His blunt observation, truthful as it was, made it easier to take offense. And how did he smell so good in the midst of a catastrophe? And be so nice? "Stubborn, too. Independent. Rigid and frigid. But I don't see that it's any of your worry."
He took the words like a slap. Why was she treating him so roughly? This wasn't her. Her was the girl whose brain mushed at his simple touch. Her was the girl who baked cookies for poor kids in the back hollows. But the pent-up emotions of the past two months, no, the past twenty-two years, polluted her behavior, stiff-armed his apology.
"You're right. I'll be going then. I'll let you know the test results soon as I hear. Should be Wednesday at the latest."
"What about that cut on your head?" The ice had washed most of the blood away, revealing a bruised laceration probably needing a stitch. It had to hurt.
He reached up, gently touched it with a finger, brought it back, and pretended to examine it. Then he smiled. A goofily sexy smile. "No brain matter seems to have leaked out."
"Get it looked at, OK?" Guilt flushed through her. He couldn't wait to leave. Just when she realized she didn't want him to. The residual buzz from his arm around her shoulders in the barn spoke like a dealer to a druggie. "Good thing I didn't take up nursing, huh?"
Blue chased the truck down the drive. Perhaps she had acted more toxic toward someone, but she couldn't recall when. She swallowed hard. She would have to apologize to him sometime. But not today.
A deep sigh lifted her chest as began crying for her dad. She still did that sometimes, right in the middle of whatever she was doing. Magazine articles claimed it was normal, even therapeutic, to cry while grieving, but it occurred at such inconvenient moments. The authors had overlooked practical tips like not operating heavy equipment while crying. Last week, she had nearly driven the tractor through the hen house during one bawling jag.
Her eyes sought the rose garden, fearful that another link to her father was broken.
Naked and scourged, the thorny canes, devoid of blossoms and leaves, stood proudly amidst the debris of the storm. We are survivors, they shouted. We will bloom again. Though their external circumstances appeared overwhelming, they bore silent witness to the truth that it was the life beneath the surface that counted most.
Could the roses' preservation be a display of God's mercy? She was ashamed to find herself nursing the cynical thought that perhaps He'd simply overlooked them. Tears dropped on the porch
as she bowed her head.
Would God be her helper? Her dad had always told her to look in the mirror whenever she wondered where to find help in tough times. God helps those who help themselves.
His death had opened new doors in her heart, doors leading into cold, empty rooms with no pulse.
"God, forgive me for doubting your loving kindness toward me." Turning, she went to the mirror over the fireplace, stared into it. "I promise to do better. I'll make you proud of me."
Chapter 24
Liza sat on the porch when she heard a vehicle slowing down. Merle Haggard's Okie From Muscogee cut through the quiet. She dried her eyes with her shirttail. Maybe it was Dr. Kilpatrick coming back to apologize for his flippancy. After a further survey of the damage, it would be nice to have some company besides Blue. A slight smile pursed her lips. A.K.A. DW.
It wasn't him. Better to see the devil himself sitting behind the wheel as Otis Spivey. The window hummed its way down in German precision. Copperhead eyes peered from beneath his regal forehead. One hand waved, a quasi salute. From the abrasions, knots, and discoloration on his face, he had been in a fight. Maybe several.
"Mr. Spivey." Heaviness pressed Liza's chest. His stare mesmerized her, especially when he rocked his head from side to side like a redneck snake charmer. She pulled her eyes away, focused on his wedding ring. The stones could have been spotted from Pluto. A monument to hypocrisy, since most knew him to be a womanizer.
His gold tooth gleamed as he grinned. "Checking to see if you needed any help. Looks like you got ripped pretty good."
His words sounded like a mumbled Asian dialect. "I couldn't understand a word you said."
He turned his head and removed something resembling a pulverized chipmunk. His words remained slurred. Was he drunk? He tapped his jaw. "Been to the dentist." He pointed at the damage. "Thank God, it missed us."
"You must be paying the preacher." She tried to ignore his roving eyes consuming her, one portion at a time, not missing an exposed pore. "But I'll be fine."
His gaze peeled from her inch by inch, swept from barn to field and back to the house. "Looks like your crop is about gone. After you had such a nice start."
X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1) Page 17